Page 121 of Free Heart
I can’t wait to go bouldering next week, though. The feel of real rock under my fingers is going to be so good. I buff the fading callouses on my hands, wondering how much the coldgranite is going to rip them up. I can almost feel the biting pain now. The price of my passion.
The sound of gravel spinning beneath wheels gets my attention and I open the garage door to see who has returned early or come to visit. I’m not overly surprised to see it’s Lowell. I haven’t seen or heard from him since before Christmas, so it’s about time he came by to check on me.
He gets out of his car in that slow, intense way of his that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
I’m still not sure how Rye ever fucked him. The man is the very definition of scary. Not because he’d ever harm a flea, but because there’s something utterly untamed inside of him.
I think back to when he was married to Nina, how he worked at YOSAR like any other, semi-normal thrill-seeking helper-type. Back then, he must have kept this terrible part of him locked up tight. I sure as hell never saw it. But that final rescue broke the locks open, and now the angel or monster—or whatever the energy is made of—is writhing around under his skin trying to get free.
If I can see it, I know Rye can too.
I laugh to myself. Clearly, Buck’s rubbing off on me with his whimsical Appalachian meanderings. He’s usually a silent man, but when he does talk, it’s either short and to the point, or romantic and winding.
Or maybe I’ve always been like this underneath my own heavy cloak of internal quiet. Who knows?
“S’up?” I ask, as Lowell approaches. His rust-red coat is flecked with snowflakes, and his hazel eyes are stormy.
“Wanted to see if you need help changing the routes. I figure you’ve worked these as much as you wanna.”
I clap him on the shoulder. “Hell, yeah. Perfect timing.”
He frowns, like the words bother him, but he doesn’t say anything more. Not for a long time. Instead, he focuses onstudying the new routes I’ve decided I want to put up, and he works on getting the holds moved around.
Eventually, I get the courage to ask, “So, what the fuck happened?”
He works the newly-placed hold in more forcefully. “With what?”
“With Rye.”
He stops and carefully moves down and away from the wall. “What’s he told you?”
“Nothing. That’s why I’m asking you.”
Lowell rubs a hand over his face. “It’s not going to work out. We both agree. Let’s just say it was for the best.”
“Then why are you both so damn miserable?”
“Fuck.” Lowell sits down on the mat. I lean back against the garage wall, watching him think. He rakes his fingers through his hair, the fight inside of him growing in tension. Finally, he says, “Did you know that I was the one in charge of that last search and rescue?”
I nod.
“You know the state I found them in?”
This time, I shake my head because I don’t know the particulars. I know it was bad, and what the news reported was gruesome enough to not seek out any more information about it.
Lowell groans before he whispers, “They were still alive.”
“Oh.”
He swallows thickly. “Yeah.”
“They were, what…nine, seven, and four?”
Lowell nods again. “The youngest was Jeanie’s age.”
I scoot closer as Lowell’s breathing fills the room, hard and rough. “Hey,” I whisper. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
He lets out a bitter, angry laugh. “You fucking asked.”
